


Harry Potter and the Interfering Professor

by Marzipan77



Series: The Ascended Chronicles of an Interfering Archaeologist [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, NCIS, Stargate SG-1, Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ascended Daniel Jackson, Crossover, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 22:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17272121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marzipan77/pseuds/Marzipan77
Summary: Daniel Jackson has ascended - now what? The Others have agreed to allow Daniel to visit other realities, other universes, on a quest to balance his own soul. Daniel wants to make a difference - and there are plenty of people out there who could use his help. Thankfully, the Others are willing to come along for the ride.At St. Mungo's, Daniel dons his healer/psychologist robes to right a wrong, to heal a family. In Azkaban, there is more than one soul to be saved. At Number 4 Privet Drive, a child needs rescuing. And, at Hogwarts, two giants among men are changed.





	1. Chapter 1

The sun was warm on his face, the afternoon light beaming in through the narrow window where he stood. Outside, the sky was blue - bright, brilliant blue, with cottony white clouds on the horizon beyond the tall buildings nearby. The colors were sharp, the green leaves of the trees in the courtyard below flipping back and forth in the breeze, showing their pale undersides. Even the dusty grey and red of the bricks of the buildings in the distance seemed deep and intense. He didn't recognize the street or the vista – London, surely, but shouldn't he recognize his location? Shouldn't he know where he stood?

His memory was jumbled. Scenes and images emerged and dissolved, one after the other. Some brought feelings of dread, icy fingers gripping the back of his neck. Others felt more wistful – a warm hearth, friendly voices, the faces of people he should know. A slight woman with raven-black hair, her dark eyes filled with joy. The tiny babe in he arms brought a flood of emotion – joy, fear, and a fierce need to protect.

His right hand was pressed flat against the glass, his skin tingling as if waking up from pins and needles. How long had he been standing here? He flexed his fingers, staring down at his hand as if it was a revelation. Pale skin, soft and smooth, as if he hadn't done a hard day's work in his life. The thick, hard callus on the pointer of his wand hand was gone – he rubbed at the skin with his thumb. Strange.

"Frank?"

He turned. "Alice. I had the oddest dream –" Frank's voice broke off abruptly. He surged forward, taking his wife's hands in his. "Merlin, what's happened, Alice? You're – you're –"

Her eyes were clear, the same deep brown that had always seemed so full of wisdom, but there were deep creases around them, now, and all along her forehead. Her beautiful black hair had turned white and flew wildly around her face, gleaming like a halo in the sunlight. 

"Older. You look older, Frank," Alice finished his sentence. She traced what must have been a crease at the edge of his mouth. "But handsome. Still so handsome." She smiled.

Frank had always been a pushover for his wife's smile. He bent and kissed her, and she clung to him.

The sound of shuffling footsteps made Frank take a reluctant step away from her. They both turned.

"Hello, Frank. Alice. How are you feeling?"

He glanced at his wife. "Confused." He brushed one hand along the thin cotton robe he was wearing. His gaze darted around the small, bare room decorated only with two single beds, two side tables crammed with what looked like a child's drawings and toys, a few moving photographs tacked haphazardly to the tile walls. It wasn't quite sterile or cold, but he recognized a hospital room when he saw one. Had they been injured? "I'm sorry, have we met?"

"No, not yet." The dark-haired man smiled, his blue eyes shining behind narrow-framed glasses. "I'm Healer Daniel. You and your wife are in St. Mungo's Hospital."

"St. Mungo's!" Alice patted the pockets of her robe as if looking for her wand. "What's happened? I can't seem to remember –"

"Why don't we sit down and talk," the healer suggested, waving a hand and conjuring three chairs. His smooth, grey robes made a rustling noise when he turned. "It's going to be a long story."

The healer was right. It proved to be a long, confusing, dreadfully upsetting story indeed. But Healer Daniel had the patience of a saint and walked Frank and Alice along their history, leading them to remember their childhoods, happy carefree days at Hogwarts, their whirlwind romance and marriage and the birth of their son. He held Alice's hand as dark memories of their captivity and torture at Voldemort's hands awakened.

"You are both heroes." The healer's words were fierce with pride and admiration. "I know that doesn't matter to you, not right now. But you should know that there are people out there who remember you. Even after all this time, they are hoping for your healing. Wishing they could help. So many will rejoice when you both walk out of here." He blinked, moved, it seemed, by their story. "Don't think that you've been hurt because you weren't strong enough. It's because you are strong, because you took the blows to protect others, not yourselves, that you were injured."

The healer left them with his kind, healing words comforting and soothing their spirits, stepping out while Alice cried, and Frank held her, leaving the two to each other.

It was the best kind of healing. Frank traced a thin scar on his wife's neck and remembered how desperately he'd tried to get to her, to shield her from the Lestrange woman's cruelty. The memories were thin and pale, bringing knowledge but none of the panic or pain that he was sure had filled him at the time. For the first time in years, Frank's mind was his own. He put the war and their capture into perspective, tears springing to his own eyes when he turned his thoughts past those horrible times and back to brighter days. Neville's birth. Their wedding. School and friends and happy days and warm nights in Alice's arms.

The healer returned, levitating a table laden with afternoon tea – cups and plates, sandwiches and cakes – behind him. Frank's throat closed with pride when his wife pulled herself together to act the hostess, pouring tea and adding creams and sugars and passing cups around. Just like the old days. Happy days at home. Looking at her hair, her hands, Frank grieved for the ten years they'd lost. But Alice's breathy laugh made him believe they still had a future. A bright one.

The sun had dipped below the window by the time they'd finished. Healer Daniel set his cup down and folded his hands in his lap. Frank knew what he was waiting for.

"Our son, Neville. He's healthy, living with my mother, you say. He – he should be almost eleven."

Daniel adjusted his glasses. "Yes. In three months, at the end of July. Neville is a smart, kind, devoted boy. Living with his grandmother hasn't always been easy, but he has no doubt that he is loved. And that," the healer shook his head, "that can overcome almost anything."

"We left him for so long," Alice said. "We never had a chance to know him, or for him to know us." She turned towards Frank. "Will he blame us, do you think? Resent us for fighting, for putting ourselves in danger when we should have been focusing on our baby?"

The healer leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. "It hasn't been easy – for any of you. Augusta certainly didn't think she'd be raising another child, but she never even considered turning away. Not all children are so lucky." His eyes dimmed as if remembering pain. "But I think you'll find that Neville never dwelt on what he might have had if his parents had been different people. If they had been more like everyone else's parents, his dad going to an office every day and his mum staying home, never putting themselves in danger." He stared into Frank's eyes. "What he has always been is proud. Proud that you stood up for what was right. That you were passionate, devoted people. And that you loved him with everything you had and fought like lions to give him a safe home where he could grow up free from fear."

Frank's breath caught in his throat. This young man, this healer, he knew what he said to be the truth. Not from years of dealing with troubled patients, Frank realized, but because of his own life. Frank swallowed hard.

"Believe me," Daniel stated, his voice low and earnest, "your son would give anything to have you two back with him."

Noises sounded from the hallway – footsteps, a stern female voice. 

"Neville comes to visit every week. He and his grandmother." Healer Daniel stood and vanished the tea set and table and conjured one more chair. 

"Now?" Alice dragged Frank out of his chair, holding tight. "I – Why am I so afraid?"

The healer's expression was firm, his words vibrating with power. "Mister Longbottom, Missus Longbottom. You've been hurt, imprisoned in your own minds, kept from your family, your friends by evil." He blinked tears back. "Please, don't let any doubt about your acceptance or your worthiness cloud this moment. Believe me, all Neville is going to see are the parents he's been longing for, awake and alive and loving him. It's all he's ever wanted."

Frank blinked. There seemed to be a glow around the young healer. Tendrils of white and gold shifted around the man's form, wrapping him in light. 

"Wait! I – we haven't had a chance to thank you!"

In the healer's place, shining steams of light poured into being, rising towards the ceiling. Healer Daniel's voice sounded inside Frank's mind. "Thank me by moving forward. By loving your son. By taking care not to leave him again."

The hospital room came into focus around him and Frank frowned. Their healer had just left, hurrying off to answer another patient's call. He turned towards the door and any thought of the soft-spoken healer drained away. Alice held his hand. 

"Mom? Dad?" The boy – Neville, their son - shuffled into the room, his eyes clear and filled with a hope he didn't try to mask. "How – how are you feeling today?"

"Neville." Alice was already reaching out.

Neville, pale and trembling, started forward. "You know me?"

Frank and Alice met the boy – their son, their precious son – and wrapped their arms around him. "Of course, we know you, son."

There were tears of joy, questions, examinations by healers, and many more hugs. Augusta was led to a chair and given a Strengthening Potion. But never once did Alice, Frank, or Neville let go of each other.

From above, an unnoticed spark of being looked down. Another presence joined him.

"You are not finished, are you?"

"No, Oma. There's another little boy who needs our help."

"And a few more things to set right."

Daniel smiled, recognizing her exasperated sigh without seeing her face. "A few more."


	2. Chapter 2

Dank. Cold. Lifeless. Azkaban prison was the definition of hopelessness. Daniel stood, unseen, unnoticed, against the dull stone wall and listened. He listened to the mumbling voices. The screams. The ranting. He listened to dull thumps as prisoners raged against their captivity, to the scrape of leather soles on the stone, the meeting of flesh and flesh when one poor soul gave up attacking his unassailable prison and began to attack himself.

Daniel watched as two Dementors slipped down the hallway, cloaks drawn around their emaciated frames. He felt the rational minds behind the prison doors quail as the creatures neared, turning away to huddle against the farthest corner of their cells. The Dementors were abominations to Ascended souls such as Daniel's. They'd been human, once. Humans with rare skills, not always used for good, twisted and sickened into what stood before him. They'd been engineered as battlefield weapons by dark wizards more than two thousand years ago. Sent into the camp of an enemy, they would suck out courage, loyalty, determination, and foster the soldiers' darkest fears. 

He shook his head, teeth clenched, his expression grim. How good wizards and witches could believe the use of such creatures against even the most desperate criminals was justified he could not imagine. Oh, he understood how it had happened. How it always happened. How good men and women could embrace the worst kind of atrocities out of fear, terror, and a desperate need for victory at any cost.

It was that attitude that had brought Daniel into this reality. When people forgot to weigh the costs of their actions, they became callous, hardened. When the ends justified the means, good people would trade places with their enemies and become indistinguishable from what they were fighting.

Daniel waited until the Dementors turned to retrace their steps on their circuit of the prison. When they'd nearly reached his location, he stepped out between them, suddenly visible, his spirit bright – blinding.

"As I stand here, I am standing before each Dementor in this reality. Each one, corrupted and changed from their natural forms into weapons, with no purpose but to destroy the minds and hearts of others." Daniel's power coalesced into burnished tongues of flame that swept out from his being to encompass the hooded forms standing before him. "Witches, I give you back yourselves. I take away the trappings of fear, the centuries of stagnation, and the barbed collars that others have created to keep you subservient to their dark needs. Wake up, witches. Wake up and choose who you will serve."

The beings before him shrank, their robes darkening to black. The figures became the size of women, not towering phantoms with elongated, clutching fingers. Chests rose and fell, breathing in air instead of man's hope. The two figures reached up and threw back their hoods to reveal faces emerging from the withered remnants, the great gaping mouths reducing, eyes opening for the first time in hundreds of years. Hair grew long and thick down their backs.

Daniel felt a tremor throughout the universe, his ties to his original reality tugging at him. There was a connection, here, he realized. Visions flitted through his mind, of black armor and pale, translucent skin, beings twisted and ill-formed, snatched from life to live as slaves to evil. He filed the information away and folded his hands within his robes, facing the creatures standing before him.

"You had names, once. You had sisters. Homes. You made those homes in forests and mountains and deserts, stealing sips of life force from travelers to sustain you. You were not born to evil." Daniel nodded. "Some chose to help – to hasten certain death when lingering would cause nothing but pain. Some worked with healers, with warlords, with hunters and animal workers. Some were foresters clearing out brush. Others pursued darker goals. These sisters, hunted and feared, turned to dark wizards for help. And you became," Daniel's voice faded and he gestured to the two witches standing before him.

"We cannot go back."

The woman on Daniel's right spoke, her voice weak and cracking. She shook moonlight-silver hair back from her face. "We have been tainted, broken. Our souls cannot withstand the ages of wickedness. We have done terrible things. Tasted man's love and life and joy and left him desperate and dying." Her mouth was a tight line of pain and regret.

"Then make a choice," Daniel urged. "Choose today to serve life. To turn your back on what you've done and step into the future." His hands sent sparks into the air. "You are strong witches. You know what wounds, what injuries you've caused here. Stay here. Reclaim this prison for good. Give back some of what you've stolen from these witches and wizards. Act to heal them, to show them the light waiting for them instead of the darkness of their nightmares and fears."

"How?" "How?" "How can we?" "It's too late."

The murmurs came from all around, from every level of Azkaban, inside and out. Each former Dementor heard Daniel's speech, each witch saw the door of the future opening before her, beckoning her into the light. 

"With a single step." Daniel smiled. "You'll have help." Fleeting brushes of light appeared, Oma's friends descending to offer advice, guidance. "I've spoken with some of your families in the old countries. They will send healers. Mind-healers as well as bone and flesh menders. If you choose this new path, you won't be alone," he promised. "You'll be able to show others that prison does not have to equal hell. For the inmates or the guards."

With slow steps, Daniel made his way through the prison. He spoke to each former Dementor, asking her name, where she had lived before her transfiguration. Some hid from him, turning their faces away, weeping. Some tried to kneel at his feet – which still made Daniel's stomach churn. When he had met each one, Daniel turned towards his ultimate goal. A cell at the edge of the oddly angled building. A cell from which the whining of a dog echoed.

The door dissolved with a wave of his hand and Daniel stepped inside. He lifted the wand he carried in his pocket and summoned a globe of soft light and sent it up towards the ceiling. Crouched beneath the only window, a man lifted his head, dark scraggly hair falling back from his emaciated face. He squinted, his eyes not used to even this weak light.

"Sirius Black. My name is Arrom. Would you care to come with me?"

"Come." The prisoner coughed and reached for his throat. Daniel conjured a flask of warm tea and Black, hands shaking, lifted it to his mouth. It trickled down his chin, darkening the dirty grey uniform that gaped across his thin chest. After a few swallows, Black tried again.

"Come with you? Out of here?"

"Yes. We have a couple of appointments. First, we'll make sure you're well. Then we'll stop in at the Burrow and pick up … a friend." The word came out laced with cold menace. "And later we'll arrange a meeting with the Minister for Magic." Daniel swirled his wand in a circle as Black rose on unsteady legs and the man was suddenly clothed in soft, dark trousers and shirt and comfortable robes. "If you have no objections."

"To leaving? None. But who are you?" Black's laugh was curdled, filled with self-loathing and despair. "You don't look much like a Death Eater – and if you were, you'd have killed me outright. Or brought in one of those creatures to do the job for you." Glassy eyes sought out the open doorway behind Daniel as if anxious to see a Dementor, to end his years of misery and guilt.

"Yeah, those Death Eater masks just do not fit over my glasses – why doesn't anyone take that into account?" Daniel smiled. It would take patience, gentleness, and a backbone of steel to take on the care and healing of this man. He knew just the household to do it. Only those who had been healed themselves, who counted the blessings of each and every living hour could take on Sirius Black. Daniel moved to the weak wizard's side and supported him around the waist. "Let's just say that it's time to set the record straight. To tell your story. To tell the truth."

"The truth?" Black sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm not sure what that is anymore."

"Oh, I think you are," Daniel murmured. "There's a young man out there who needs to hear from you. He believes he's alone in the world, Sirius. He knows nothing about his mum and dad, or how to tell friend from foe. You have a lot you could teach him."

Black raised his dirty, tear-streaked face to Daniel. "Harry?"

"Harry." Daniel held the man upright through his tremors. "The wizarding world needs a wake-up call. I have a feeling you're the wizard to give it to them."

The words seemed to steady Black. He straightened his shoulders and pulled away from Daniel's grip, leaving one hand rock-solid on Daniel's arm. "I believe you're right."

"Great. Ready to go?"

"You can't Apparate within Azka-"

A breeze drifted through the empty cell, tossing tufts of black dog fur into the air.

SG1 – HP – SG1 – HP – SG1 – HP

Fudge spun in a circle, his robe swirling around his legs. His face was as red as the silk cravat tied around his neck. "What is the meaning of this!? What do you think you are –"

His eyes widened, and he fell silent, staring upwards at the packed gallery of the courtroom. The single chair in the center of the floor was wrapped around with chains that rattled and slithered, like rusty snakes waiting to strike. "What is the meaning of this?"

The faces of men and women clad in all colors of robes stared down at him, grim and silent. Men and women of all races and colors, from every continent, wisdom and discernment obvious behind each pair of eyes, as if they saw right through him. He blinked quickly, trying to compose himself. "I don't – you don't seem familiar – where is Madam Bones? And Under-Secretary Umbridge? I don't – "

A brown-haired woman in lilac robes in the front row stood. "Cornelius Fudge, you will not ask the questions here."

"No, of course, I mean." He fidgeted with his robes. Something about this woman kept him from demanding an explanation. She seemed slight, almost plain, but power radiated around her, around each one of them. Power like he had never seen before.

"You will cooperate with this tribunal willingly."

Fudge nodded. It hadn't seemed to be a question, but he suddenly wanted to do nothing but whatever she asked.

A man in blue robes materialized from the darkness at the edge of the chamber. Light from the flickering torches gleamed across his glasses, hiding his eyes. From one hand, a cage dangled, its bars woven in a narrow pattern. Within it, a fat brown rat squeaked and scurried, biting at the bars, slamming itself against the door. Fudge drew back. Why would anyone bring such a creature into the Ministry?

"Mister Fudge –"

"That is Minister Fudge, if you please. Have we met?" He tried to look down his nose at the other wizard but settled for putting his hands on his hips.

"Sit down." The man pointed at the chair.

Fudge sat, his hands in his lap, glancing worriedly at the wriggling chains.

"Now, Mister Fudge, I'd like your attention, please. Your undivided attention." 

Now Fudge could see through the lenses of the man's glasses. He stared straight into eyes that burned a fierce bright blue, pinning him to his seat.

The man held up the cage so that he could look through the bars at the suddenly cowering rat inside. "It's time to make an appearance. Don't waste my time, Pettigrew."

"Pettigrew?" Fudge breathed. "But –"

The man sent a stinging hex across the bars of the cage before dissolving it. In an instant, the rat inside expanded, taking on human form. A pudgy, balding man appeared, wearing dusty, tattered, outdated robes, wand in hand. A hand that was missing a finger.

"What in Merlin's name –" Fudge couldn't believe it. He gripped the arms of the chair. "This must be a trick. Pettigrew – you're dead! Black killed you!"

"Peter Pettigrew." The woman from the gallery spoke again, drawing the former rat's attention. "Before these witnesses, speak only truth. Truth of spirit. We will not hear anything else."

Pettigrew blinked and groveled, hands folded around his wand. His mouth opened and closed but no sound emerged. Trembling, he tried again, but whatever words he uttered died away before anyone could hear.

"You must listen, Peter Pettigrew." The woman shook her head. "Truth of spirit. Even after all the years of evil, years of deception and cruelty, it exists deep within you." She pointed at his chest. "To know yourself is to forget yourself. I have stated that only truth can be heard here. Speak. Speak now."

The ratty man sidled away, trying to put distance between the young wizard, the woman, and himself. He bumped against an invisible barrier, sending him reeling backwards. Another ward tumbled him back the other way and he squealed in frustration.

The woman turned a baleful glare towards the blue-robed wizard. "Really, Daniel."

"You'll find rats can fit through the smallest holes, Oma. I'm just keeping him in place."

Fudge's mind was a mass of denials and renunciations. No. It couldn't be Pettigrew. He was dead. Murdered along with a crowd of muggles by Sirius Black. "But – but –"

The one called Oma raised one eyebrow at him. "Only the silent soul can listen."

Fudge slammed his mouth closed. She nodded and addressed Pettigrew once more.

"Peter."

"I – I – you don't understand. The Dark Lord, he threatened – no, he – he promised. I'd be great. I'd be first. For once, I wouldn't have to cringe or cheat or pretend to follow those fools, those proud, arrogant fools. Potter. Black. That bloody werewolf. He – he said I was the strong one. I was the one who they'd chosen to keep their secret. And I was the one who could bring them down. Me, Peter Pettigrew, the scraggly little rat. Barely a friend, more like a toady. I'd show them! I was still standing when they were dead – dead or in prison or destroyed. Me, Peter Pettigrew! Standing at the Dark Lord's right hand!"

Pettigrew lifted his left hand, his back straight, his figure imperious. He held his pose for only a moment before crumbling into a weeping mass at the woman's feet.

Fudge swallowed bile, acid crawling up his throat. He'd suspected – they'd all suspected that Black couldn't have done it. That he loved Potter too much to be a turncoat, no matter his name or his family history. The man had been transparent as glass, every word he thought hurtling straight out of his mouth since he was a child at Hogwarts. To think he'd be able to fool anyone about serving the light had been ludicrous. But – Black hadn't argued. He'd never claimed his innocence. He'd sat staring into space in his cell, berated hour after hour, day after day by faithful Aurors who'd known the Potters.

Voldemort had been destroyed. The war over. Fudge clenched his fists, fingernails biting. It had to be over. He'd sent Black and others to Azkaban and locked the door, turning his back on the entire situation. He'd allowed people to heal, to go on, to embrace the future. He, Cornelius Fudge had done it.

"No."

The woman's smile was sad. "No, Cornelius Fudge. One cannot build the castle of the future on the shifting sand of deceit. Especially self-deceit."

Fudge shuddered. He raised one hand to shield his eyes from her honesty.

"Ambition is like love; impatient of both delays and rivals. Your ambition has allowed you to blind yourself to truth. But the truth lives on. Nothing can stop it – not your blindness, not Peter's betrayal, and not Harry's innocence. We ask that you embrace that truth, Cornelius Fudge."

He rose from the chair. "What – what truth, ma'am?"

It was equivocation – a delaying tactic. He knew it and so, it appeared, did the crowd of witnesses. Justices. The figures seated in judgment of not just Pettigrew, but of Fudge himself frowned down at him.

He drew himself up. "I admit that sending Black to Azkaban without a trial was … shortsighted of me. That I did not investigate – I did not ask for witnesses or corroboration. I was -" he pinched his lips together before continuing, "we were all tired. Tired of the darkness. The evil. The losses." Fudge took a step forward and shook his head. "Yes, it was my fault. But others could have stepped in –"

"Your own truth convicts you, Cornelius Fudge."

He hung his head. "And my punishment?"

"When the student says, 'I am very discouraged, what should I do?' The master answers, 'encourage others.'"

Fudge looked up at the young wizard in the blue robes and into those blazing eyes. 

The man continued. "I have been discouraged, Minister, convinced of my own powerlessness, counting only my mistakes. I've learned that helping others is my only hope to balance my soul. It won't be easy," he warned. "It's going to be hard to change. But I do have a suggestion about how to begin."

From the shadows, another figure emerged. Long, dark, curly hair. Gaunt features. Oh my, Fudge had never realized how stern and formidable Sirius Black could appear.

"You're not the only one dealing with a world that has changed, Fudge." Black stuck his thumbs into his vest pockets. "I've been told that we're going to need each other in the days ahead. What do you say?"


	3. Chapter 3

Hagrid was the last to arrive. He shut the door of the Hogwarts conference room behind him. 'Course he was last. He was the only one 'sides Dumbledore who lived on the premises and they sent a ruddy owl who had been too afraid of Fang to peck on his window. The idiot thing finally caught up with Hagrid out in the forest, not giving him time to clean up or change his muddy boots.

Only one chair left, then. All right. Hagrid sighed and glanced left and right, making sure his hips and elbows would fit between the chairs without side-swiping Professor McGonagall or the new professor. Couldn't remember 'is name. Allium? Arrowroot? Sumpin like that. 

As if he knew Hagrid was thinking about him, the wizard stood and moved his chair to the left, giving Hagrid more room.

"Thanks. Very kind of you," Hagrid mumbled. Nice to see the newest member of the Hogwarts staff wasn't one of those stuck-up purebloods. He dropped into the chair and drew in his arms and legs. As much as he could, anyhow. His knee hit the conference table and everything on it jiggled and danced. "Stupid table."

The professor next to him waved his wand and the plates and cups and candles stilled.

"Thanks again," Hagrid murmured.

"No problem."

Hagrid stared. "You're – you're American?" He looked over the man from head to toe. Good plain boots, not unlike Hagrid's. His blue robes were a bit odd, thick and soft-looking with a woven scarf wound 'round his neck, not silk or satin, a plain bright blue that made the man's blue eyes practically glow from behind his spectacles. Young, too, by the look of him. Young as Snape. Huh. Should look into getting that focus charm on his eyes so many others did at his age, Hagrid thought. He glanced over at the only other wizard he knew that wore eye-wear. This new teacher was nothing like Dumbledore. No prancing unicorns on his robes, no hat with bobbly bits dangling, no merry grin. And his brown hair was shorter than most wizarding folks Hagrid knew.

"I lived in America for my school-aged years, yes," the man answered. He stuck out one hand. "My family is from all over – Europe, Africa – and I've traveled very extensively. I guess you could call me a child of the universe." His lips twisted in a half-smile. "Daniel Arrom," he introduced himself.

"Rubeus Hagrid," he answered, taking the man's hand gently. Wouldn't do to squeeze too hard. Flitwick would never let 'im forget that one time he broke the tiny man's fingers. Healed 'em right up afterward, but, still.

Arrom's grip was strong, though. Not like he was tryin' to start sumpin, just a good, strong handshake.

"Yer the new Muggle Studies professor," Hagrid said. 

"Just until Professor Burbage returns." 

The wizard's smile was quick but there was something in the eyes. Something Hagrid had seen before in wizards who had seen more than their fair share of trouble. "Been a teacher long?"

"Oh, I have some experience in the classroom."

Didn't really answer the question, did it? Hagrid scratched at his chin.

"You have another new professor this year, don't you?"

Hagrid glanced down the table towards the odd purple turban. "Aye. We've got a new one every year for that post as long as I can remember."

"Really?" Arrom's eyebrows rose high. "Cursed?"

"That's the rumor." Dumbledore never came out and said it, but they all knew. Nobody was going to last more than a year teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. Not since …

"And the headmaster hasn't been able to break the curse? I'm surprised." The wizard pursed his lips and stared across the table. "His reputation is almost mythical."

"Oh, he's all that and then some, don't you worry." Hagrid's voice rose – he couldn't help it. No one was going to talk bad about Dumbledore, not in front of Hagrid. "Nobody can hold a candle to our Dumbledore."

"Huh." The wizard blinked and then reached for the teapot before him. "Tea?"

Hagrid nodded, happy that someone had the sense to handle the teapot so that he didn't have to reach across and risk bumping the table again.

Sugar and milk were passed, and Hagrid was stirring his large mug when Dumbledore clapped his hands for their attention. 

"Thank you all for coming. It has been a very busy summer, as you all know. We've managed to rebuild the fourth-floor classrooms where the Transfiguration NEWT students had lost control of their Golem, thank you Professor McGonagall, and the Quidditch pitch has been refurbished with new goal posts and spectators' stands after the regrettable fire set off by the understandably raucous Slytherin victory party. And now, before the acceptance letters for the coming semester go out, I thought it best to discuss what will, I'm sure, prove to be the single most interesting – and potentially dangerous – situation Hogwarts has found itself in for quite some time." His eyes twinkled. "Finally, Harry Potter will be coming back to us, to the wizarding world."

Warmth bloomed deep within Hagrid's chest. Finally. He'd finally get to see that tiny babe he'd swept from the ruined house in Godric's Hollow and carried to safety. Well, not a tiny babe anymore. A young man. Nearly eleven years old. Black hair, green eyes, that evil scar on his little forehead. Hagrid hoped the boy had grown tall and strong. He wished Dumbledore had let him raise the boy, feed him up and treat him like a cherished son. Spoil him and train him, best he could, and tell him stories about his mum and dad. But, well, he stared down at his ham-sized hands, it had probably been better to have Harry with his human family. So many folks had been clamoring to take the orphaned boy in – McGonagall, Lupin, the Longbottoms, the Weasleys – but, no, Dumbledore would have his way. Like always.

"Have you spoken with the child?" Professor McGonagall asked, leaning forward. "Made sure his muggle relatives are prepared to help him with his introduction into our world?"

Dumbledore waved his hands. "No need, Minerva. While we at Hogwarts must be prepared for Harry's arrival and the consequences that might take place, I will not have the child treated any differently than other boys and girls who are coming to Hogwarts for the first time. It would not do to have him singled out by the staff, held up before the others as a protected favorite."

"Well, of course not," McGonagall drew her robes tight about her. "But do you really think, when his name is called for the Sorting Ceremony in the Great Hall, that the boy won't immediately be the center of attention? For heaven's sake, every wizard and witch knows his name, knows that, somehow, as a baby, he defeated He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. It won't matter if we draw attention to him or not, attention he shall have."

Hagrid nodded. She was right. All the kids – 'cept the muggle-raised, and they'd catch on soon enough – would be starin' at the mite. Starin' and wonderin' and askin' questions. Some would want to get in close, right next to Harry, tryin' to share his fame. Others would be jealous. And some, he glanced over at Snape sittin' at the foot of the table, his expression closed and locked down tight, some would remember how their families' plans for greatness had been destroyed by a tiny tot in his crib.

Dumbledore shook his head. "A normal student. That is how we must treat him. A first-year, with the same rules and expectations as any other."

"I ag-ag-ag-agree with P-P-P-Professor D-D-D-D-Dumbledore."

Hagrid scowled at the irritating man. Quirrell. He snorted. Would have been better to be called Squirrel, if you asked him.

"Speaking as a-a-a-a-a new p-p-p-p-person myself, I know I'd rather b-b-b-b-be treated as any other of you."

"But he isn't." Professor Arrom spoke up, folding his hands on the table in front of him. "It would be … disingenuous for us to tell ourselves that Harry Potter is or ever could be any other student. No other child attending here has his history, or fame. None other has been hidden away from the wizarding world for ten years. Legends have grown up around Harry, his name, his scar, his supposedly great power that defeated Vol –" a few gasps around the table cut the man off. "The Dark Lord," Arrom corrected himself. "Each and every person sitting at this table's life has been impacted by young Harry and his family." He opened his hands. "Those are facts. And facts are what we should be dealing with."

"I agree."

Hagrid nearly got whiplash jerking his head around to stare down the end of the table. Snape? Agreeing with someone?

The Potions teacher raised an eyebrow. "The child should not be treated as a pampered pet. Or revered as the saviour of the wizarding world that some would name him. However," Snape folded his arms over his chest, "there are real concerns considering Potter's attendance. Very real concerns. Especially when one thinks about those who lost their lives or their freedom after the Dark Lord's vanquishing." Snape sneered. "Draco Malfoy will also be arriving at Hogwarts this fall, as well as the Crabbe and Goyle boys."

"I really don't think we need worry about eleven-year-olds taking up the revenge fantasies of their elders, do we? With the minimal magic available to them, and your excellent oversight, as usual, Severus," Dumbledore bent his head towards the Slytherin Head of House, "the worst they could do is the usual schoolboy pranks. Jelly-legs jinxes at lunch." He chuckled, smiling around the table.

Hagrid found himself joining in laughing at the thought. For a moment.

"Tripping charms at the top of the Owlery steps. The occasional rat bone tossed into a student's simmering Boil Potion." Arrom spoke up again, frowning. "The most innocent pranks can wound and kill, Headmaster. Even muggle children have been known to injure – or kill – one another with 'school-boy pranks'."

Hagrid tensed, all his humor draining off. The man was right. He shoulda seen that instead of laughing his fool head off. "Students have died here, Headmaster. You don't need me to remind you o' that."

Quirrell shuddered, his face pale, eyes screwed up as if in pain.

Dumbledore tsked and shook his head. "That was a singular incident, Hagrid, a horrible memory brought about by an extremely singular individual. Unless you are suggesting that young Draco or his friends will grow up into another Dark Lord, I believe our students will be safe."

The headmaster kept talking, but the sick feeling that had started up in Hagrid's gut wouldn't be squashed so easily. None of them had expected Riddle, a school Prefect, to have been behind little Myrtle's death, either. Or that he'd already have thought up a plan to give himself such dark, unheard-of powers as he'd got in the end. Little Harry was going to be the center of a maelstrom if they didn't do something about it. But, what could Hagrid do? McGonagall would always follow Dumbledore's lead. She was nodding along with him and so were Flitwick and Sprout. He caught Snape's dark, cold eye for a second before the wizard sneered and turned away. Huh. No help likely from that end.

"Our newest professor," Dumbledore nodded to the man at Hagrid's side, "has developed something that he'd like to share with us. Professor?"

Hagrid shifted around in his chair. It was a tight fit, but he managed to face the young wizard as he summoned a stack of thin, soft-bound books from the side table and sent one to settle before each teacher. Hagrid peered down at it, puzzling out the title.

"So, You're A Wizard! Now What?" It showed a young boy holding his Hogwarts letter, a friendly-looking owl sitting on his shoulder, and, out the window behind the boy the outline of Hogwarts could be seen in the distance. Picking the book up, Hagrid watched, wide-eyed, as the boy on the cover grew taller and broader, his hair changing from smooth and fair to dark and tangled. Why, he looked a bit like –

Hagrid glanced down to the right, to McGonagall's copy, and saw that the cover was changed. She was holding one titled "So You're a Witch! Now What?" showing a pigtailed little girl.

"Nice charm work there, Arrom," Flitwick brushed his hand across his copy.

Arrom nodded. "Thank you. You'll find that each child's will be written specifically for their identity, not unlike the school letters that are charmed to find the recipients wherever they may be."

That was a fine piece of magic, Hagrid agreed. He frowned. Now, why had Quirrell slapped his book open flat on the table. Didn't much like his cover, Hagrid guessed.

"Hogwarts emerging from the Dark Ages and encouraging inclusivity. However shall we cope?" Snape drawled, drawing Hagrid's attention.

"There seems to be a steep learning curve for muggle-raised children coming to Hogwarts," Arrom began. "Of course, you'll always have the over-achievers, the ones with parents who have the time and resources to investigate the wizarding world between their letter's arrival and September first. But, let's face it, getting them to Diagon Alley for supplies and onto the platform at the train station is as much as we can really expect. Too much, for some students."

"If they aren't resourceful enough to find out what they need, should they even be at Hogwarts?"

Hagrid harrumphed at the witch beside him. "That's a bit of unfair, P'rfessor McGonagall."

"Yes, spoken like a true Gryffindor," Professor Sprout added. "Not every student – nor their parents – are prepared to barrel on ahead with little to no information." She nodded briskly towards Arrom. "Something like this has been too long in the making, in my opinion."

"Yes, well," Arrom adjusted his glasses on his nose, "when I researched the other institutions like Durmstrang and Beaux Batons, as well as the Egyptian and Indian magic schools, I found they not only provided a set of basic information and wizarding history, they arranged for a representative from the school to visit the family, answer any questions, and guide them through their first visit to buy supplies and acquire their wands. I was surprised to find that Hogwarts had no protocol for this."

Even Hagrid heard the disapproval in Arrom's quick words – and he was probably the least subtle of the bunch.

"We've always found Hogwarts' students to be self-starters," Dumbledore answered. "And, of course, once here, their friends will be happy to bring them up to speed."

"'Up to speed,'" Arrom echoed, sounding a lot like Snape to Hagrid's ears. "On thousands of years of wizarding history, culture, etiquette, the history of Hogwarts itself, the houses, sorting, quill writing, not to mention sports, music, literature, popular games and trends? That's a lot for eleven-year-olds to communicate, don't you think?"

"And does your little book provide all of this information, Professor?" McGonagall's snide voice rose above the young man's. "Seems a bit thin."

Arrom's smile was deceptively mild. "No, you're right, it doesn't. But it does provide a list of resources for the muggle-raised and their families, so they can do as much or as little research as they'd like before sending their children off into the unknown. If you flip to the back, you'll see charmed links provided that the magical child can access. With the unlocking word provided and the tap of a magical child's finger, an owl will be sent with the book requested, a subscription to a wizarding newspaper, or the proper department at the Ministry of Magic will be notified." He released McGonagall from his piercing stare and glanced around the table. "I've also provided a personal link to me in case any muggle has a problem or question."

That set ole McGonagall back a peg or two. Hagrid chuckled. "Thought of everything, haven't ya?"

"Maybe not everything, but, if, for instance, a young wizard raised by muggles with no idea of what might be awaiting him at Hogwarts wants to contact me, I'd love to provide any help he needs."

Hagrid met Arrom's blue gaze. Yes. This man could help young Harry. Hagrid was sure of it.

The meeting broke up after a lot more double-talk and foolishness, if anyone cared what Hagrid thought. Which no one ever did, o' course. He let the others drift away before he shoved back from the table. Quirrell had just headed towards the door and Hagrid hung back a bit – whatever herbs the man used to freshen his robes made Hagrid's head ache. 

He wasn't exactly surprised when he found Professor Arrom walking at his side.

"I'd really like to see what the cover of my book looks like in Quirrell's hands," Arrom muttered.

Hagrid stumbled on the first step. "You think he's a girl?"

Arrom barked out a laugh. "Not exactly." He stayed quiet as the two moved towards the castle's entrance. "Did you notice that the headmaster didn't exactly approve of sending my book to the students?"

Frowning, Hagrid thought back to the discussion. "He didn't, did he? Dumbledore just started talkin' about beefin' up the wards around the castle."

"Which is smart, but I have a feeling that Harry will be more concerned with what – or who – is inside the castle." Arrom led the way through the entrance hall and out into the courtyard. "The last time something awful happened at Hogwarts, the threat was inside the wards, wasn't it?"

Hagrid fumbled in his pockets. "You know about that, do ya?"

"I always do my research," Arrom replied with a wry smile.

"I didn't –"

Arrom held up one hand and waited until Hagrid turned towards him. "I'm sorry, Hagrid."

The man's eyes were watery, as if he felt the sorrow deep inside. But, why should this wizard be sorry for what happened to Hagrid all those years ago? For his broken wand and his dismissal? For the ruination of his dreams of bein' a wizard? Hagrid swallowed hard, unable to speak.

"How long has the wizarding world known that Tom Riddle was an evil bastard? That he framed you and Aragog for Myrtle's death? Myrtle has been a ghost here at Hogwarts for fifty years and no one has asked her how she died?" Arrom's expression was filled with regret and rage. "Hagrid," he reached out and gripped Hagrid's arm, "you are a good man. You should not be looked down on or treated badly because of a miscarriage of justice that no one – not even Dumbledore – has taken the trouble to fix. Holy – I mean, Great Merlin, what kind of people does that make us if we can't put things right? If we ignore the mistakes we've made that have hurt good witches and wizards?"

"I – I don't know what to say." He didn't. All this long time, Hagrid had been grateful to Dumbledore, to Hogwarts, for giving him a place. A place to live, to work with the creatures he loved. It wasn't so bad. He'd never been that great at spells. But, deep down, when he stood in his hut and stared out the window at the great and glorious school, all lit up 'gainst the night sky, Hagrid wondered why. Why no one had ever said 'sorry.' Or allowed him back his wand. He shook off the dark mood with a shrug. "I guess I figger it could've been worse."

Arrom's lips tightened. "I've had the privilege to know a few men like you Hagrid. Strong men who've lost so much and yet work every day to help others. To fight evil. Men – and women - who don't think much about themselves. I'm very happy to meet another in you. And I hope we'll be friends and that you'll help me fit in here."

"Me?" Hagrid stepped back. "Think I'd be the last person to do that."

The young wizard shoved his hands into his robes' pockets and let his gaze wander across the Hogwarts' landscape. "I've been to many different places, some very … alien, some that felt like home as soon as I set foot there. As soon as I would step through the, ah," he adjusted his glasses, "the Floo, I'd get a sense of the area, of the people there. Most places have a specific feel, a personality. This one –" he turned back to Hagrid, "well, it feels like you."

Again, Hagrid was speechless.

"Strong. Resourceful. Faithful. True. If you had your way, no one here would ever come to harm or be forced into danger. You are a big man and take it as your duty to protect those at risk – just like Hogwarts. It's big and scary-looking to those who don't understand it, but underneath, Hogwarts is true. It wants to tell us its secrets. To protect us. And to help us protect others." His eyes gleamed. "There's some playfulness in there, too, of course. Fun. A little daring." His shoulders drew up around his ears. "Sounds like you, doesn't it?"

Hagrid laughed. "Well, it doesn't sound like Professor Snape, and that's a fact!" Hagrid liked this man – he liked him very much. Maybe the two of them wouldn't make such a bad team. "How about a tour of the forest then, Professor?"

"Please," the wizard grinned, "call me Daniel."


	4. Chapter 4

Hagrid backed the motorbike out of the castle shed and gave it a quick once-over. Never'd do to let the thing gather dust. He'd needed it more times than he could count. Without a wand, Hagrid had been forbidden most types of wizard transportation except brooms, thestrals, and, if he had Tom at the Leaky Cauldron call it for him, the Knight Bus. Oh, and portkeys, but who was gonna trust Hagrid with one o' those? And nobody yet had made a broom that could bear the weight of a half giant like him.

"Sorry I'm late."

"Wondered if you'd changed your mind." It was barely dawn, but Hagrid was eager to be away. He sent a glance towards the young wizard standing at Snape's side and then turned the whole way 'round to stare at him. "What's that get-up for?"

Arrom looked down at himself. Dark trousers, boots, a grey button-down shirt all topped by a leather jacket and that same scarf. "I thought muggle clothes might make Harry's aunt and uncle feel a little less … frantic."

"Frantic. Can't believe those bloody muggles are plannin' on dragging our Harry clear across the country. To some benighted rock in the middle of the sea." 

Hagrid had been called to Dumbledore's office last night. Stupid muggles refused to let Harry have his letter, he'd said. Even after hundreds of owls had been sent off, the spells set into each parchment had told the school that Harry hadn't read any of the letters. Only one reason for that, Hagrid grumbled to himself.

"I knew they were the worst kind – McGonagall said as much the night I left the poor babe there, on the doorstep." Hagrid gave the motorbike's seat one more wipe while Arrom lifted the last flapping chicken out of the sidecar.

"Petunia Dursley should know better." Snape's face was pinched with disapproval. "I should have taught her a lesson a long time ago." He shot Arrom a long sideways glance. "You're sure you wouldn't like me to … tag along?"

Arrom shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "Without your help we wouldn't know what we're heading into, Severus. But, for the moment, running interference for me here would do the most good."

Hagrid frowned. Arrom had been waiting outside Dumbledore's office last night, offering to help. Not that Hagrid wasn't grateful, but the first thing the wizard wanted to do was talk to Snape. An', strange enough, the dark Potions Master had stopped his nasty comments long enough to listen. Arrom had more patience with Snape than anyone else – 'cept for Dumbledore. He'd gotten the man to tell them a bunch about poor Lily's sister. 'Specially about her jealousy and hatred for anything havin' to do with magic.

"Still can't believe Dumbledore didn't know," Hagrid muttered. A cupboard. The boy was livin' in a cupboard. Hagrid gripped his umbrella tight before strapping it down.

"Oh, I’m sure he did." Arrom glanced between the two, eyebrows lifting at their stares. "He obviously thought the blood wards were more important than a loving family for Harry. I can almost see his point."

"Almost," Snape drawled in agreement. "Not that I care one whit about hugs and kisses for Potter's son –"

"But," Arrom interrupted, "you can appreciate that having the young man woefully unprepared to take his place in wizarding society does no one any good. And that an emotionally abused boy could turn out to be easily manipulated by someone offering him the first acceptance and warmth he's ever experienced. Can't you, Severus?"

Those words were cutting, to be sure, Hagrid realized. Snape tilted his head so his hair sagged forward to practically cover his face. "I can," the wizard admitted.

"So!" Arrom clapped his hands together and grinned. "Are we ready?"

"You're sure this … device … will take the weight of the three of you?" Snape asked, flicking his fingers at the motorbike. 

Hagrid chuckled. "It takes me and whatever I've been hauling for all these years. Can't believe little Harry's weight is going to be much of a factor, P'rfessor."

"Indeed." Snape drew his robes closer. "I'll look for your owl if you decide you require my assistance. I can meet you in Diagon Alley if there is any … unexpected difficulty."

"Alice and Frank are planning to meet us there. But, thank you for your offer, Severus." Arrom stuck out his hand, startling Snape into retreating a half-step, his wand ready in his hand.

"Sorry, old habit." Arrom shook his head. He dropped his hand to his side. "We'll be in touch."

Snape bowed his head, his eyes still narrowed in suspicion, before he turned on his heel and stalked away.

Arrom watched. "How does he get his robes to billow so dramatically?"

Hagrid snorted. "Charms sewn into the edges. That's what P'rfessor Flitwick said."

The wizard waited until Hagrid had man-handled the motorbike into take-off position and then climbed into the sidecar. "Number 4 Privet Drive please, pilot." He grinned. 

"Aye-aye. Keep your hair plastered down," Hagrid warned with an answering smile. "What little of it you've got."

The young wizard's shout of glee echoed over the sleepy castle as the two thundered into the sky.

Hagrid parked the bike down the street from the Dursley house at Arrom's suggestion. 

"Look at 'em," Hagrid pointed. Vernon Dursley looked like a gigantic version of the fat chicken Arrom had plucked from the sidecar, flapping his arms and squawking, shooing Harry and his enormous cousin towards the shiny red car. Petunia, meanwhile, was more like one of them prairie cats, neck stretched out and hands folded on her skinny chest, head turning this way and that to keep a bulging eye out for neighbors peeking out to watch them. "Got here just in time, din't we?"

Arrom was already hurrying off. "C'mon, Hagrid. You'd better let me do the talking," he shot back over his shoulder.

As if Hagrid was goin' anywhere. Hagrid clutched his umbrella to his chest.  
"Leave that," Arrom warned.

"How did you –" Hagrid frowned at the wizard's back. He sighed and left the umbrella stowed. In three strides he'd caught up to the man.

"Mr. Dursley! Thank heavens I've caught you!" 

The fat man stopped in his tracks, one hand wrapped around Harry's skinny arm, hauling the child around in front of him as he whirled to face Arrom. "Who in blazes are you?"

Arrom, one hand on his chest as if he was winded by his little sprint, halted a few steps from the motionless family. "Daniel. Daniel Arrom. Pleased to meet you." He stuck out his hand again.

It seemed like some sort of spell to Hagrid as Dursley closed his mouth and automatically took the wizard's hand in his. 

"And this must be Dudley. Nice to meet you." Another hand-shake and Arrom had moved on to Petunia, ignoring Harry entirely. "Ma'am. Looks like you're hurrying off. Last minute vacation? I won't take up too much of your time."

"What do you want?"

Arrom smiled. "I'm here to make sure no more owls bombard your home."

Dursley's face reddened above his tight collar. "It's about bloody time! Do you know what a shambles those blasted birds have made of our home? Swooping in windows and down chimneys! Leaving feathers and, and other things on every surface! I'll have you know –"

"Could we go inside?" Arrom glanced at the windows opening in the houses on either side of the Dursleys. "I wouldn't want your neighbors to get an earful."

"Inside. Inside, quick now," Petunia was already tugging at Dursley's sleeve with long, pinching fingers. "Come on, Dudders, we'll get some breakfast."

"I didn't want to go anyway," the huge boy complained. 

Hagrid followed the group to the door, making sure to keep Harry in his sights. Arrom must have put up some kind of glamour, hiding Hagrid from the stupid muggles or they would have made a stink, he was sure. Harry was the only one who looked at him, peering around Arrom, green eyes staring up through his round glasses. 

Hagrid winked at the boy and slid a finger atop his lips. Ah, look at that! The boy smiled. That was a mischievous grin if he'd ever seen one. Looked like his dad, he did, when he smiled like that. But, those eyes. Those were his mum's eyes, that's fer sure.

Twisting sideways and ducking his head, Hagrid made it through the narrow doorway before Petunia managed to close the door. Then all hell broke loose.

"What! What – who are you?! What is the meaning of this? What do you mean bringing your filthy boots into my home? You'll crush the carpeting!"

"Now listen here," Hagrid began, but Arrom beat him to the punch again.

"Silencio."

Petunia's mouth kept on flapping, but no sound came out. Dursley as well. The piggish boy turned a bright shade of purple, his mouth gaping in what must have been a scream. Hagrid laughed. "Well done, there, Arrom."

"Now, if you'd all like to calm down, we have some things to tell you. And, if you don't," Arrom adjusted his glasses, "well, we'll be here for a lot longer and you'll find your throats very sore when the spell wears off sometime tomorrow."

Arrom didn't wait long. He took Harry's barrel-shaped cousin in hand first. "Dudley. I can see you're not feeling well. Why don't you go back to bed?" Arrom's frown was concerned, his voice quiet and compassionate. "None of this concerns you and your mother woke you up far too early this morning, didn't she?" The boy nodded, his eyes glazing over. "Go on, I'm sure you'll feel better after a nap."

The boy slumped as if already half-asleep and trudged up the stairs and out of sight. Hagrid narrowed his eyes at the other wizard. "That wasn't Imperio, was it?"

"No, no," Arrom shook his head. "No need to resort to Unforgiveables when a child is already so suggestable." He glared at Petunia and Dursley. "Sit," he bit out and pointed to the couch.

Little Harry was gaping like a fish, standing in the middle of the muggle parlor. "Who are you?"

Arrom's smile was warm and kind when he bent to talk to the boy. "I'm Professor Arrom and this is my friend Hagrid. We teach at a special school. We'd love to tell you all about it. In fact, we brought you a letter." He fetched a familiar-looking envelope from his jacket pocket. "Now, why don't you and Hagrid go on into the kitchen where you can read it and talk and maybe have some breakfast. All right?"

Harry was already reaching for the envelope and nodding, not a bit of frightened by Hagrid or Arrom or anything that was happening. Hagrid beamed. "C'mon, then. Lead the way, young man."

Without one backward look at his supposed family, Harry hurried into the kitchen. He waved Hagrid into a seat that looked like it must be Dursley's – built wider and sturdier than a lot of what he saw in that house. The boy hurried to the fridge and pulled out eggs and bacon and butter and jam.

"Here, now," Hagrid made to stand, "no need for you to wait on me, Harry. Don't you want to open your letter?"

The boy stopped and sucked in a breath, his gaze moving to the parchment envelope he'd left on the counter, out of the way. "I – Aunt Petunia says my chores come first."

"Uh-huh. Wellll," Hagrid drawled, "I think a letter like that, one that's been trying to find you for weeks, isn't going to be happy waiting a moment longer. Just look at it!" 

The parchment envelope was vibrating. Bouncing and jigging along the sparkling clean counter towards Harry like an excited pup. Harry stared, and Hagrid lunged forward to catch the carton of eggs before it hit the ground when the boy lost his grip. With a flash and a snap, a familiar-looking house elf appeared in at his elbow.

"Master Hagrid!"

"Argyle! Wot are you doin' here?"

"Master Arrom sent for me!" The elf frowned at the crumpled, oozing egg box clutched in Hagrid's huge hands. "Breakfast for six, sir?"

"If you please," Hagrid answered, relieved. "Four with warming charms."

The elf disappeared, taking the eggy mess with him. Ten seconds later two plates appeared on the table filled with eggs, sausage, bacon, mushrooms, toast and jam, with steaming cups of hot cocoa and glasses of pumpkin juice. Four more were stacked on the counter under warming charms.

"There, now," the chair creaked as Hagrid leaned back, hands on his knees. "C'mon, Harry. Let's open that letter." He looked Harry over from toes to nose. "And then you'd better eat up, you're lookin' a might skinny."

After the boy had opened his letter and read it, the discussion went much better than Hagrid expected. That little book of Arrom's helped a lot - Hagrid was thankful that he'd brought his along. Harry was as bright as his mum, asking loads of questions about Hogwarts and wizards, owls and quills and Quidditch – that was the James Potter in 'im, for sure. He wolfed down his breakfast, eyes gleaming as Hagrid described what life at Hogwarts was like. 

"And I don't have to come back here? I can stay at Hogwarts all the time?"

Hagrid patted the boy on the shoulder. "We'll just let Professor Arrom take care of that, won't we? Now, why don't you go and put some nice clothes on and we'll head to Diagon Alley to get your school things."

The boy's face fell. He lowered his eyes to stare down at the huge yellow-ish shirt that hung off one shoulder and the tatty jeans cinched in by a bit of rope by the look of it. "Don't have any," he whispered.

Hagrid clenched his teeth and wished for his umbrella.


	5. Chapter 5

Daniel didn't bother waiting through Vernon Dursley's silent outrage. Stuffing the useless wand into his pocket, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the two supposed human beings seated on the couch. His own anger at their treatment of the child in the next room was stirring up his power, power he didn't have to hide in a reality like this one. Magic. Wizards. Dragons and wands and castles. It should be every child's dream, not a devastating nightmare for the child in the next room. 

He could feel his power building up along the surface of his skin, threatening to billow out in a halo around the physical form he'd taken on. The Others – never very far from him – had quieted. They'd given up trying to distract him, to pull him away from this situation once Daniel revealed the mistreatment Harry had survived – and the path more powerful wizards had set out for him. Using a child as a tool, as a weapon in their war, setting him up to die in order to rid themselves of their foe – even the most disdainful Others among the Ascended Ancients wouldn't sit still and let that happen, not when Daniel had waved it around in front of their faces where they could no longer pretend they didn't see it.

The Others might be standoffish idiots, afraid to stick their fingers into mortal situations in most cases, but the unforgiveable abuse and exploitation of children could still get a rise out of them. Thank heavens. As Daniel moved through the universe, tugged here and there by the aethereal currents and his own curiosity, the cries of children – and the wounded adults they would become - always made him stop to listen. And act. He'd drag the Others along with him kicking and screaming if he had to. Daniel smiled to himself. He'd certainly had a lot of experience convincing stubborn, mule-headed leaders to let him step in and make a difference. Hell, he'd been training for this his entire life.

"Let's review." Daniel dropped his words into the enforced silence of the Dursley's lounge. "You, Petunia, were entrusted with your sister's young son when she and her husband were murdered ten years ago. You were informed of the situation and paid for your trouble out of the Potter estate." He stepped towards them, seething. "It was made abundantly clear to you that Harry – an innocent, orphaned child who any normal person should feel compassion and concern for – needed to be protected as he stood at the very center of a terrible struggle between good and evil."

He wrestled himself back from the edge of incandescent rage with a few deep breaths. "And then you decided to lock him in a cupboard, withhold food, clothes, blankets, toys – everything that would help the child heal and grow, including love, compassion, and understanding. You punished him for accidental magic, allowed your son to grow up thinking bullying younger, smaller, powerless children was something to be proud of, and tried to keep him from connecting to the wizarding world and his rightful heritage." His smile felt like the grin of a bleached skull. "How am I doing so far?"

"Oh, right, you can't answer," he added after a moment. "I'd release the spell, but I have a feeling that I really don't want to hear your blatant lies and excuses." Daniel lifted his hands from his sides, the power of the Ancients dripping from the tips of his fingers. "After watching your household for a few weeks, it is impossible to miss the abuse and neglect you've subjected Harry to. People have seen – neighbors, teachers, friends. Wizards, especially, would not have been able to miss it. Believe me, I will be dealing with the authorities who have decided leaving Harry here would build character or teach him to survive or whatever double-talk rationalizations they repeat to themselves."

Oh, yes. Daniel knew why no one had intervened. Why no muggle school administrators had sent Children's Services to the Dursley home. Why the wizards responsible for Harry's safety had been blinded. That reason was named Albus Dumbledore and Daniel would be paying the wizard a little visit later.

"But, right now, Petunia, Vernon, I'm going to do something very simple." He flexed his fingers, watching the Dursley's stare at the build-up of power, shining gold and white and unearthly in their neat lounge. "I'm taking Harry away. You'll never see him again. Ah!" He held up one finger as if to interrupt. "I know what you're going to say – that you never wanted him in the first place. Let me remind you that, as I take Harry, any payments to you for his room and board will stop. In fact," Daniel reached into the universe and tweaked the slim threads that connected Harry to his aunt and uncle, "any school supplies, personal items, clothes – the usual things parents are eager to provide their children - that Harry will require for the next seven years will be deducted from your muggle bank account. Think of it as back-taxes, garnished from your wages. You understand that concept, don't you, Dursley?" The angry man's face paled. "Oh, yes, maybe a word in the Revenue Service's ear on my way out of town? About how you could afford new cars and electronics for Dudley and vacations to Majorca on your salary?"

Daniel wiped the smile from his face. "But those are details. Money. Reputation. They're nothing compared to a child's health and future. To the sacred bonds of family. Dumbledore told you, all those years ago, about the secure magical bonds that arise from a mother's love, from Lily's love and sacrifice for her son." 

He felt a brush of fingers against his face and remembered a glowing being promising to protect a child from the evil of the Goa'uld. Oma, ascended, strong, cradling Shifu in her arms, and taking the time to teach Daniel about love and power. She was close beside him, now, her anger nearly matching his own.

His voice quieted, fierce and threatening. "Where I come from, a mother's love is revered. You, Petunia, out of jealousy and envy and bitterness, trampled Lily's gift to her son. But what you failed to consider was that that bond did not just protect Harry from evil while he lived here, it protected you, too. Without his presence, your family will be just as vulnerable to the dark magical forces rising as any other helpless muggle." He leaned closer. "The evil wizard who killed Lily and James Potter, who destroyed hundreds of lives, powerful wizards and their families, leveled homes and targeted muggles, non-magical people like you in particular – he was devastated by Lily's love. He and his followers, afraid of that bond, stayed away from you because of Harry's mother's love. That bond," Daniel raised one hand and snapped his fingers, "is now broken."

It was as if an earthquake hit the Dursley's living room. The air vibrated, walls, ceilings, furniture shaking, an explosive rumbling heading out in all directions from the center, from Daniel. Every wizard would have felt it, and every muggle would turn on the news to try to find answers.

Daniel placed his palms together and slowly drew them apart, gathering the few personal belongings Harry had in the doomed Dursley home. He bundled them up, shrank them, and shoved them into his pocket. With a second thought, he conjured a business card and sent it up to Dudley Dursley's bedroom. Dudley was still a child – a nasty, unrepentant bully well on his way to becoming a sociopathic serial killer, but still a child. If he needed help, Daniel or one of the Others would be listening.

Daniel breathed deep. "Good luck," he stated evenly before turning on his heel. "You're going to need it."

Hagrid was standing, facing him, when he entered the kitchen. 

"What in blazes was that?"

Daniel raised innocent blue eyes to the half-giant. "What?" He rubbed his hands together. "Boy, am I hungry!" He flopped down into a chair and summoned one of the plates warming on the sideboard. "A full English breakfast – I've sure missed this."

A few minutes later, Daniel had shrunk down and transfigured some of Dudley Dursley's least-repugnant clothes for Harry and had sent him and Hagrid off through the air towards London and Diagon Alley on the enchanted motorbike. Neville and his parents would take good care of Harry. They were excited about welcoming another boy into their home – a home utterly protected by the powerful Augusta's charms, not to mention Daniel's Ascended power. And, after months of healing, Sirius was ready. Ready to be the godfather he'd never been allowed to be. 

Daniel stared into the weak sunlight of a Surrey morning and smiled. He'd love to experience Harry's wonder at his first look into the wizarding world, but he had a few other things to do. He raised his arms to the side and allowed his being to dissolve, becoming starlight and moonlight, power and mind and soul.

"So much more fun than Apparating," he whispered into the morning breeze.


	6. Chapter 6

The sorting was finished, the first years settling happily at their tables. Daniel watched Harry and Neville, brothers in all but name, now, congratulating each other on being sorted into Gryffindor together. Ron and his brothers joined in. Hermione, sitting across the table, frowned at the hubbub. She'd be good for them, Daniel smiled to himself. Someone needed to remind the boys that Hogwarts was a school, a place for learning and studying – at least once in a while.

Draco had already established himself at the Slytherin table. Daniel's fingers tapped along the edge of his goblet as he remembered Oma's warning. He couldn't stay in this reality much longer. It would take time for wizarding society to heal from Voldemort – time and distance and good decisions made by good people without Daniel jogging their elbows. It would take more time than Daniel had to completely reverse everything that Lucius Malfoy had drummed into his son's head, centuries of emphasis on 'blood purity' and the worthlessness of half-bloods and muggle-borns. Thankfully, Draco would have time enough – and good role models here at Hogwarts – to change his own mind.

At the other end of the table, to Daniel's left, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Sirius Black, couldn't tear his eyes away from little Harry. The two had been introduced just last week, after Sirius had attended Mind Healer's appointments and had largely recovered from his ordeal. Cornelius Fudge had sponsored him as professor when Dumbledore's choice, Quirrell, had inexplicably disappeared. Black had changed substantially since his recovery from Azkaban. Daniel lowered his eyes to the table in front of him. Better than most, Daniel knew how having a new purpose, a challenge, something he could devote his life to would help the man heal.

On his right, Severus sighed. "I suppose you're proud of yourself."

Daniel snorted. "Sorry, Severus. I know there'll never be any love lost between you two. But people do change, you know. No matter what you believe, people change." It was inevitable, he reminded himself. People grow, become more themselves and less influenced by others. He had. Jack, Sam, Teal'c – they'd all changed. Grown together and apart. Daniel had despaired of those changes in his former life, but now? Now he could see more clearly. And, very soon, he'd be ready to go back. To watch over them, to tweak a few things like he had in this reality. He had a few other stops to make, first.

He felt a tug on his spirit. More than a tug. Oma and the Others were close, their presence just out of sight behind the beautifully lit Great Hall. Daniel felt the warmth blossom in his heart. He was grateful for their help, for the fact that they'd let Daniel act. That they agreed with his mission – to help those he could, to make a difference in a few lives along his journey.

It was almost time to go.

"You actually want me to believe that mangy cur has changed."

Daniel turned to look into Severus' dark eyes. "You have."

He watched as Severus sought to control his emotions. It wasn't as easy as it used to be for the Potions' Master. Since Daniel and Hagrid had included Severus in the truth about Harry's life, the angry, bitter man had thawed. Not completely. No, that would be a shame, Daniel thought to himself. Every school needed one hated teacher, one the students could complain about to each other. Harry didn't need every person he met to be his friend. But Severus Snape was far from his enemy.

Severus was just beginning to realize it.

Daniel waited through dinner, watched as the students were led to their Common Rooms by the school prefects. The professors lingered a while, catching up, comparing notes about the first years. Daniel allowed himself to fade into the background, waiting for his moment. He saw Hagrid stand tall – very tall – and stride towards the doors with a new pride. Daniel had helped him file the necessary paperwork with the Ministry to have his criminal record expunged. Once it was accepted, stamped and dated, he'd have a decision to make. Hagrid could continue as he was or search out private tutors so that he could get his wand back. Daniel had a suspicion which way he'd go.

He reminded himself to drop a whisper into Severus' ear before he left – there was the decaying body of a Basilisk in the basement to be scavenged for potions' ingredients.

Daniel watched Black fidget and dither behind the teacher's table before he convinced himself to approach Severus. He didn't need to listen in on the stilted conversation to know that Black was apologizing. And Severus wanted more than anything to growl and throw it back in Black's face. He didn't. Daniel sighed. Those two would not be friends – but they'd be better allies.

Finally, it was time. Daniel left the shadows and allowed himself to be seen.

"Hello, Albus."

The headmaster's eyebrows twitched at the informality. "Professor Arrom. I was under the impression that you'd already left."

Daniel nodded. "Not quite yet. I haven't completed my mission."

"Your mission. That's an interesting turn of phrase."

Dumbledore didn't bother to hide behind his smiling, twinkly-eyed mask. Suspicion hardened his expression, tightened his skin across his bones. Many things had changed in Albus Dumbledore's world. Black had been released. The Dementors had been reborn. And Harry? Harry had not arrived at Hogwarts friendless, desperate, and ready to become the sacrifice Albus had prepared him to be. Dumbledore's planning and strategy had been ruined, and he was not happy about it.

The wizard who stood before Daniel was formidable. Powerful. He had defeated Grindelwald. He'd witnessed horrors and stood behind the front lines to order his army. He had never forgotten that it was his own impulsiveness, his lack of foresight that had caused his sister's death. Albus Dumbledore was a mighty wizard, one who might reach for Ascension on his own someday. Wouldn't he give Merlin a run for his money? 

"I'm not actually from around here," Daniel explained. "And I won't be teaching Muggle Studies this year. Don't worry, Charity is returning this evening. She's cut her holiday short. In fact," he adjusted his glasses, "no one is going to remember Professor Arrom. Not Harry. Not Hagrid. Not Sirius." He tilted his head. "And not you."

Daniel reached into the pocket of his robe and withdrew the thick, dull crystal. "Your war is over, Albus. No one is coming for the Philosopher's Stone. Voldemort is imprisoned somewhere far more formidable than Azkaban. He won't be coming back. Harry Potter doesn't need your character-building traps and tortures. This time, Harry won't be the Saviour of the Wizarding World, or the Boy Who Lived. This time, he'll be the boy who was happy, the boy who thrived."

"Oh, he'll have adventures." Daniel smiled, filled with joy at the boy's bright future. "The best kinds of adventures, with good friends standing alongside him and adults he can count on to help. He'll fight evil like we all do. By making good choices, standing up for right, telling the truth, and helping others. Not by accepting horrors and certain death as his role in your tragic play."

Daniel tossed the stone to Dumbledore. The headmaster snatched it out of the air with an agile strength most would not expect. 

"What have you done?" the old man demanded, his chin high with righteous indignation.

"I've stopped your war. Are you actually going to try to argue with me? Try to insist that I have no right? After everything you've done?" Daniel stepped towards him. "Would you really rather go forward your way? Fattening up a small boy for slaughter? Using children as tools and weapons? Watching them die?"

"No – of course – I never wanted –"

"Live. Breathe. Welcome the peace that should come after a long battle, Albus." The power of ascension billowed out to surround the old man, brushing back his robes, fluttering his hair and beard. "It's time to rest and allow these children to become whatever they will be. Without your manipulations."

Eyes half closed, Dumbledore swayed, tension and anger draining away. His sharp, well-honed edges softened, his body sighing.

When he opened his eyes, Dumbledore was alone in his office. His tiny silver devices were silent, pretty toys that belonged on a museum shelf. The cabinet that had once held his Pensieve was gone – but he didn't miss it. Memories could be awfully addictive. Fawkes was singing a sad song, as if saying good-bye. On the last note it turned into something else, not a dirge, but a song of victory. Of joy. Dumbledore smiled.

"Time for a good night's rest, I think."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for joining me on this weird journey. Never thought I'd drag my beloved fandoms together on a road trip with Ascended Daniel as the driver! Next up will be Daniel's visit to the NCIS universe. Onward!


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